


Choice and Consequence

by Elycien



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Weyoun 6 lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 07:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12601624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elycien/pseuds/Elycien
Summary: Weyoun Six survived, at the cost of permanent physical damage from his termination implant. Vorta were never supposed to make choices, but he's made this one, and now the trick is learning how to live with it.





	Choice and Consequence

Weyoun leaned heavily on Odo’s arm as he took his first shaky, stumbling steps into his new quarters. It was furnished only with the basic amenities provided to all station lodgings, but someone had replicated a vase of flowers for the table in an attempt to make the place feel a little more welcoming. Weyoun appreciated the thought, even if the item’s aesthetic value was naturally lost on him.

“Thank you, Odo,” Weyoun said shakily. “I appreciate your help, but I think I can handle things from here.” It was too confusing, too distracting, to touch the Founder like this - Odo shouldn’t have to support him when Weyoun was here to serve _him._ The sooner he could stop being a burden on his savior, the better.

His attempt at walking to the couch on his own did not end well, despite his best intentions. A few steps and his legs were once again trembling too badly to hold his weight, and he went crashing to the ground with a sharp gasp. Odo was at his side at once, and Weyoun’s eyes closed in dismay.

“Careful,” Odo said, his voice soft and so, so much gentler than Weyoun deserved. “Take it slow. I’m in no hurry.”

“With all due respect, Odo, you must have better things to do than babysit a defective Vorta,” Weyoun said, forcing a self-deprecating smile on his face as Odo helped him up.

Odo gave him a very severe look. “You’re still in my custody,” he said. “That makes you my responsibility.”

It was true, in a way - despite being assigned his own quarters, there were still security officers under Odo’s command stationed outside his door for the foreseeable future. A perfectly reasonable precaution, even if Weyoun had no intention of betraying the station’s offer of asylum. He didn’t see how that meant Odo needed to be in here with him now, making sure the defective Vorta didn’t fall over his own feet. None of this was how he’d pictured his new life on Deep Space Nine.

Of course, he had hoped to avoid activating his termination implant before even reaching the station, and once he had done it, he hadn’t expected to survive. It had not been as quick or as painless as he’d been led to expect, and while logically he realized that had ultimately been to his benefit, he couldn’t help feeling that he’d failed in something important by remaining alive. The lingering neurological damage was, he supposed, no more than he deserved.

“Weyoun?” Odo said, low and concerned, and Weyoun realized his hand was behind his ear, tracing the scar where Dr. Bashir had removed the implant during the surgery that had saved his life. The Vorta forced his hand away and smiled.

“My apologies, Odo,” he said softly. “I am deeply grateful for your assistance.”

“Hmph.” Odo looked unconvinced by Weyoun’s calm smile, but said nothing more, helping the small Vorta to his feet. His entire body was trembling now, and he knew from experience that it would take some time for the painful tremors to stop. Odo had to half-carry him the rest of the way to the couch, which Weyoun sank down into with a shuddering sigh of relief.

Odo stood and walked across the room, and Weyoun thought at first that he was about to leave, but instead he went to the small bag just inside the door which contained all of Weyoun’s belongings - only a change of clothes and a number of hyposprays containing medication that Dr. Bashir had prescribed. He brought one of these back over and sat on the couch beside Weyoun, holding it out. “Here.”

Weyoun tried to take it, but his hands were shaking too badly and he nearly dropped it. Odo deftly caught it and, after receiving Weyoun’s small nod of confirmation, injected the Vorta. The relief was not complete, but at least it was immediate. Weyoun hadn’t realized quite how much pain he was in until it started to recede, and now he almost cried in relief. He sagged back into the couch cushions, still aware of Odo watching his reactions like a hawk.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right outside the infirmary,” Odo said, frowning.

“I trust Dr. Bashir,” Weyoun said. He looked down at his trembling hands, forcing himself to breathe steadily. “If he says that my life is no longer in danger, I am happy to go wherever I’m needed.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Odo said. The Founder sighed - a tic unique to him out of all his kind, Weyoun had noticed. “If you have any difficulties, if you’re in any distress, I want you to contact me or Dr. Bashir at once, understand?”

Weyoun opened his mouth to answer but the words caught in his throat - that it wasn’t Odo’s responsibility to be looking after him like that, that he had no idea what kind of personal emergency could possibly warrant imposing himself on a Founder’s time. Instead he nodded, rather helplessly. It was no good telling Odo that this wasn’t the way things were supposed to work, not that it was his place to say so at all.

Odo seemed to pick up on the Vorta’s hesitation, however, and something in his face softened. “Listen to me, Weyoun,” he said quietly. “My people did this to you, and so I feel… _responsible._ You’re here as an intelligence asset, yes, but you’re also here under my protection. I take that seriously.” There was a long pause before Odo added, “And I won’t forget what you did for me on that runabout.”

Weyoun found that he couldn’t continue meeting Odo’s eyes after that, dropping his gaze and bowing his head to take some scant comfort in protocol. “You owe me nothing, Founder,” he murmured, wincing at the lapse in address but unable to do anything about it. He didn’t think he could call Odo by name right now if he tried, not when everything else was already so backwards.

To his utter surprise, Odo reached out and put a hand on his shoulder with a gentle but firm grasp. “All I want right now is for you to rest,” he said. “ _That_ is your only duty right now. Starfleet has agreed to postpone your debriefing until Dr. Bashir has cleared you for it. And _I_ personally will not let him clear you until I'm convinced you're ready.”

Weyoun nodded, eyes still downcast. “Yes, F--” He caught himself. “Yes, Odo.”

Odo let go of his shoulder and stood up. “I won’t impose on you any longer,” he said - as if he could, Weyoun thought. “If you… don’t feel comfortable contacting me directly, my personnel outside will assist you if necessary.”

Before he left, Weyoun looked up at last and tried to smile, the expression shakier but more genuine than what he’d shown Odo before. “...Odo? Thank you.”


End file.
